“Irishman or not, he’s a rarity—a sort of hardness next to positive stolidity, yet with plenty of savoir faire—caution in thought and preparation, and then a sure swiftness like that dealing of the cards; add to it a consecration to an idea so whimsical and quaint that heaven must laugh, and heaven must speed him.”
“What idea may that be?”
“It’s one of those secrets everyone knows—Ireland redeemed.”
My “oh” was certainly disappointed.
Maryvale looked for some time at the red face of him before he chose to enlighten me further. “Many wild young Irishmen have burned and blazed for Ireland free, but never one I’ve known had the genius of imagination of this man.” He added in a low-toned parenthesis, “Barring the Marquess of Killarney, I’ve no doubt he’s the wealthiest Irishman in the realm.”
“That’s enough distinction for one Hibernian.”
“Seldom known in his race, surely. And he saves his money, looking always to the gleam of his great goal.”
“Well enough, Mr. Maryvale—but you speak as if he had some special vision.”
“A Free State is nothing compared to the bright morning in mind.”
“Ah, an anarchist!”